


can't turn off what turns me on

by crookedfingers



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Aftercare, Alcohol, Anal Sex, Anxiety, Barebacking, Bondage, Bottom Gabriel, Collars, Consensual Non-Consent, Established Relationship, Guns, M/M, Pre-Canon, Rape Roleplay, Rough Oral Sex, Rough Sex, Sensory Deprivation, spitting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-28
Updated: 2020-01-28
Packaged: 2021-02-27 08:02:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,005
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22393693
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crookedfingers/pseuds/crookedfingers
Summary: Gabriel doesn't want him to take 'no' for an answer.And he can never say 'no' to Gabriel.
Relationships: Reaper | Gabriel Reyes/Soldier: 76 | Jack Morrison
Comments: 40
Kudos: 111





	can't turn off what turns me on

**Author's Note:**

> Once upon a time, someone posted a [prompt](https://reaper76-kinkmeme.dreamwidth.org/537.html?thread=1817#cmt1817) in the R76 kinkmeme. I was too slow to claim the fill, but the little rat in my brain started running on its wheel, and I told myself that I would revisit the idea one day. And the day to bully Gabriel Reyes has at last arrived.
> 
> (If you'd like to read the original kink meme fill, which was also an inspiration, you can find it [here](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/R76_KINKMEME/works/12525280).)
> 
> Also, my thanks to [thereweregiants](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thereweregiants) for sparing me from the agony of a final read-through!

They try again on a Friday.

Jack finds Gabriel in the underground parking garage, loading things into the trunk of his car. Gabriel spots him approaching as he’s lowering the trunk lid, and his expression brightens slightly. He lifts his chin in greeting.

“Hey,” he says. “You done?”

Jack nods. He walks up to the car. Then he pulls his hand out from inside his duster and points a pistol at Gabriel. He keeps his arm and hand close to his body, using the bulk of his duster to hide the gun as much as possible from anyone else. It’s late enough that most people have already left for the weekend, but they’re not the only ones on this level of the garage. A couple rows over, a pair of their intelligence officersare standing between two cars, talking and laughing together.

Jack watches Gabriel’s expression change as he registers the gun. His eyes move to it, and his mouth parts slightly before his gaze snaps up again, surprise and confusion written on his face. Being Jack Morrison grants him an instant of bewildered hesitation that no one else who drew a gun on Commander Reyes would be lucky enough to get.

It’s not loaded, but that’s beside the point.

“Don’t say a fucking word,” Jack says, quietly, before Gabriel can speak. “Unlock the car and get behind the wheel.”

Gabriel glances aside for a second, looking at the nearby pair. The elevator doors _ding_ open, and a third person steps out, whistling.

“I _said_ —”

Gabriel gives one stiff nod and walks around the driver’s side of the car, keeping eyes on him as he goes. Jack mirrors him from the opposite side, stepping up to the passenger’s side door. When he hears the locks lift, he opens the door and watches Gabriel until he does the same. They both lower themselves, slowly, to their respective seats. Jack holds his right hand against his stomach to keep the gun pointed at Gabriel.

“Start the car.”

Gabriel does.

“Leave through the main checkpoint and turn right.”

Gabriel glances at him from the corner of his eye as he starts to pull out of his space. “Where are we going?”

“Shut up. Don’t say anything unless I ask you a question.”

It’s a rainy evening, and Gabriel has to switch on the windshield wipers as soon as they pull out of the garage. The drive is silent except when Jack tells him where to make turns. He’s grateful that Gabriel doesn’t try to interrogate or bargain with him; he doesn’t have this part of the script worked out in his head. Maybe Gabriel senses that and is sparing him from having to fumble for appropriate responses.

Gabriel knew that they would be trying again today. They’d agreed on the date together, and a couple hours earlier Jack had checked in with him by text to make sure that he was still feeling up for it. But the kidnapping is a surprise. They hadn’t talked about that option, explicitly. Jack is taking liberties.

But Gabriel’s going along with it better than anticipated. Jack alternates between watching the road and glancing at Gabriel. His expression is tight but neutral, as though he’s thinking about an upcoming meeting rather than being abducted at gunpoint. He looks entirely normal, but for the fact that his neck is sweating.

He’s apparently not anxious enough to demand more information, though. If Gabriel asks _where are we going, Jack_ , he has to give an honest answer.

Jack doesn’t want to be _Jack Morrison_ for this. For what he’s about to do. He wants to push ‘Jack’ out of his mind and be someone else. When they’d talked about this, they’d agreed that their safe words would simply be their own names. It was the first time they’d ever had to talk seriously about safe words at all. ‘No’ and ‘stop’ and ‘don’t’ have always been sufficient. Half the time they don’t need to say anything at all. Now, Gabriel calling him by his name would mean that something isn’t working for him, or that he’s so far out of his head he’s forgotten the rules of the scene. Either way, it’ll signal that something is wrong.

The drive is otherwise uneventful. They travel through the countryside for awhile, until Jack indicates a gravel pull-off at the shoulder of the road, just on the other side of a little bridge. “Stop there and turn off the car.”

When they come to a stop, he says: “Get out of the car; leave the keys. Don’t say anything. Don’t run.”

As soon as Gabriel stands, he, too, shoulders his door open and climbs out of the car. Gabriel is standing still but looking around, brow furrowed. They’re on an uninhabited stretch of road; there’s no one he could call to for help even if he wanted to, and Jack happens to be one of the only people Gabriel can’t outrun.

He’s made it easy for Gabriel to obey by taking away his options.

Jack shows him the gun over the roof of the car and uses it to make a sideways gesture. “Walk to the front of the car.”

Again they mirror one another as they circle slowly toward each other at the nose of the car. Jack stops just short of one of the headlights but gestures for Gabriel to come front and center. He sees that Gabriel is hard, and a satisfied thrill zips through him.

“Armor off. Put it on the ground. Ammunition, too.”

Gabriel obeys, slowly. He places everything on the ground with great care. He’ll be mad later about getting any mud on the armor.

“Take off the sweatshirt and hat and put them on the hood.”

A flicker of astonishment passes through Gabriel’s eyes. It’s subtle, but Jack reads the look loud and clear: _Are we doing this_ here?

Beside the _road_?

Jack keeps any reaction off his face. “I don’t like to repeat myself.”

Gabriel gives a little grunt and whisks the beanie off his head. He tosses it onto the car hood and then unzips his hoodie, shrugs it down his arms, and lays it over top of the beanie.

Under the hoodie is, of course, his concealed shoulder holster. Kidnapping Gabriel Reyes out of Overwatch headquarters required his willingness to be helpless. But Jack makes a self-satisfied little noise, as though he’s found something out.

“Turn around,” he says, and Gabriel slowly complies, dragging his feet.

Jack holsters his pistol and reaches into one of the big interior pockets of his duster.

He approaches Gabriel and, as quickly as possible, throws a black bag over his head and cinches around his neck. Not too tight. Gabriel makes a tiny noise, starting to pull away, and Jack grabs his wrist and throws him face-down onto the hood of the car. The air heaves out of Gabriel’s lunges as Jack wrestles both arms behind his back and zip ties his wrists together.

Gabriel twists, getting one shoulder under himself, and uses his elbow to push off of the car. They collide with enough force to make Jack stumble once over his feet. But Gabriel’s blind and doesn’t have his arms to help him catch his balance again, and it’s easy to trip him, grab him by the nape of the neck, and slam him back down again.

“Nope,” Jack growls, and pops a punch into Gabriel’s ribs that’s just hard enough to get another noise out of his throat.

Jack braces himself in anticipation of more of a fight, but Gabriel offers only nominal resistance as Jack divests him of his holster and frisks him down. He leans heavily on Gabriel as he does it, hips pressed snugly against his ass. He finds Gabriel’s phone, puts it on ‘Do Not Disturb,’ and pockets it. There’s also a folding knife, a little packet of antacid tablets, and, charmingly, a small bottle of lube and three condoms. Then he hauls on Gabriel’s arms to make him stand and pulls him back around the side of the car.

“Get the fuck off!” Gabriel shouts, stumbling as he tries to keep his feet under him. The wet ground doesn’t make it any easier.

Jack opens a rear door, pushes Gabriel’s head down, and shoves him onto the seat.

Gabriel kicks, dealing a glancing blow to his hipbone. Even at less than half strength, it hurts like Hell. But the pain gives Jack the motivation to retaliate. He grabs Gabriel’s ankle and holds it tight. When Gabriel, predictably, tries to kick him with his other leg, Jack seizes the both of them, forces them together, and zip ties his ankles to one another. Gabriel makes a furious noise. Jack uses his legs as a fulcrum to tip Gabriel over and cram him fully into the car. He slams the door shut before Gabriel can lash out with another kick.

He watches through the window for a moment as Gabriel struggles on the seat for a moment before he resigns himself to lying on his side, legs bent. He’s breathing hard enough for Jack to see his chest swell and contract, and the bag clings to his mouth with each inhalation.

Jack collects everything he made Gabriel take off, folds it all up into a neat bundle, and puts it into the trunk. He adds his own duster and body armor to the heap, as well. Then he gets into the driver’s seat.

He looks into the back seat before he pulls the car back onto the road. Gabriel’s lying still, and his breathing has slowed. Jack had already tested the bag on himself; it’s light-blocking but surprisingly breathable. Gabriel will be okay in it.

Jack focuses on his own breathing as he drives. He feels calmer than he expected to. All he has to right now is drive. This is the easiest part of the plan.

God help him, he’d made a _plan_. Collected props. Rehearsed the sequence of events in his mind. He’d spent a lot of time thinking about what he should do to Gabriel—and the things he’d learned about his own needs.

This is one of those needs: going to another location. Somewhere chosen for this purpose and this purpose alone. He can’t do it anywhere on base. At home. Not somewhere that’s supposed to be safe. Not a place where Gabriel is supposed to be protected. Not a place where he’s surrounded by familiar things that remind him that he’s _Jack Morrison_. 

Not explaining his plan was also a deliberate choice; a page out of Gabriel’s playbook. The sincerity of Gabriel’s surprise and confusion makes it easier to believe that he’s not really himself and preserves the sense of momentum. He just has to focus on guiding Gabriel from one step to the next.

Gabriel stays quiet throughout the drive. They have the road almost entirely to themselves, and the rain and darkness narrows the world down to the range of the headlights. There’s a pleasant feeling of isolation.

After eight minutes of driving, Jack makes the final turn and pulls up in front of their destination: a cute twentieth-century two-story chalet. It’s a rental property, booked by the week. With the privacy of the beautiful countryside but the city an easy drive away, the chalet is “ideal for honeymooners.” It’s very charming.

More importantly, it still has its fallout bunker.

The house was built during the era when disaster shelters were required, and the bunker was left largely untouched during later cycles of renovations. The “wine cellar” was only vaguely referenced in the listing, but it turned out to be exactly what Jack was looking for.

He steps out of the car and opens the door closest to Gabriel’s head. He reaches in, grabs Gabriel under the arms, and drags him out of the car.

He lets Gabriel fall to the ground at full length on his back.

Jack notices that he isn’t hard any more.

Gabriel grunts and tries to rise. Without his feet, there’s not much he can do from his position. Jack draws his pistol and steps around him. He crouches beside Gabriel’s feet and taps the pistol against his leg.

“I’m going to untie your feet. If you kick me again I will shoot your fucking kneecap out. Do you understand me?”

Gabriel goes still. Then he inclines his chin slightly, just once. The motion is barely visible through the bag.

“I want to hear you say it,” he snaps. “Answer me. Do you _fucking_ understand?”

“…Yes.”

Jack holsters his pistol and snaps the zip tie off Gabriel’s ankles. Again he has to grab Gabriel under the arms to haul him upright. He kicks the car door shut and marches Gabriel toward the chalet, steering him by the elbow.

Gabriel stumbles over the entry step that Jack fails to tell him about and stumbles his way through the front door. Jack doesn’t bother to turn on any of the lights. He pulls Gabriel through the main level until they reach an interior door off the kitchen.

The door leads into an empty hall not even two meters long. At the other end of the hall is a vault door. Jack pushes Gabriel against the wall so he can slide past to reach the door.

The vault door groans as Jack hauls it open with one hand. The noise seems to catch Gabriel off guard: he stiffens and leans back on his heels, resisting when Jack tries to make him walk again.

“Where’s—?”

“Somewhere no one can bother us. Come on.”

Gabriel balks. Jack pushes him between the shoulder blades hard enough to send him staggering forward.

He doesn’t warn Gabriel that there are stairs just on the other side of the vault door. He trips down the very first one with a small shout, and only Jack holding him up behind by the arm keeps him from falling down all the rest.

Jack flicks the light switch for his own benefit. Even blind, Gabriel is sure-footed down most of the staircase. But he doesn’t know when the last step is coming, and Jack pushes him along too fast for him to test each footfall.

The staircase ends only a few feet short of one of the cellar walls. Gabriel lurches as tries to find a step that isn’t there, and Jack pushes on him from behind, driving him forward until he pins Gabriel roughly between the wall and his own body.

“You need to learn how to behave,” he breathes. “And I’m going to teach you.”

Gabriel says, “Go to Hell.”

It’s such a tame invective that it’d be funny, but Gabriel says it with so much poison that Jack’s blood chills for an instant. Gabriel’s spoken to him in anger, but never with hatred.

Steeling himself, he peels Gabriel away from the wall and drags him toward the far corner of the room.

The cellar has stone walls and a concrete slab floor. Most of the space is just one room, with a corner walled off for a tiny bathroom. The air is cool but dry, without any mustiness. There are built-in shelves where food and other supplies were originally meant to be stored, as well as a more modern wooden wine rack. In the far corner, a thin, yellowing mattress lies on the floor. A table is pushed against the opposite wall, near the wine rack.

He throws Gabriel onto the mattress. Gabriel lands face-down with a grunt and struggles to turn himself over. Jack lets him.

When Gabriel gets onto his back, Jack drops onto the mattress over him, knees on either side of his hips.

Here’s the problem: he’s not hard yet. Gabriel all tied up—that’s nice. Getting to push him around a little, get a bit rough, yeah, that usually gets him going. _Usually_.

There’s nothing ‘usual’ about this.

Jack feels… out of alignment with his own body. He’s focused on the plan but not deriving any pleasure from it. But he needs to be hard for the rest of the plan to _happen_.

Gabriel pushes against the mattress with his heels, trying to slide out from under him, and Jack gives his face a little slap through the bag. It muffles force of the blow, but it makes Gabriel stop moving.

“If you don’t hold still I’ll strangle you,” he says brusquely.

Then he grabs the bottom edge of Gabriel’s shirt and begins to pull it apart.

The fabric is designed to resist tearing, so he has to apply some actual effort to do any damage, but eventually the edge splits. He follows the tear up the front of Gabriel’s shirt with his hands until it separates completely at his neck. He pushes the halves apart, leaving Gabriel’s chest and stomach exposed. The rain has left him slightly damp.

Gabriel flinches away from the first brush of his hand, low on his stomach, just above his waistband, then holds very still as Jack continues to touch. He lets his fingers stray up the length of Gabriel’s stomach, watching the abdominal muscles jump and tighten. Jack cups himself through his own pants as he gropes Gabriel’s torso, toying with one of the soft nipples until the skin stiffens. Gabriel has what Jack can only describe as a _figure_ , with his wide chest and muscular legs making his waist look deceptively slim in comparison. He’s always found Gabriel beautiful. Even addled as he is, Jack is affected just by looking at him. Touching him. Remembering the way he tastes, the way he sounds. He pets through the dark body hair and traces the smooth lines of old scars.

Gabriel’s breath comes faster through the bag as Jack’s cock swells under his hand. He finds himself lingering unnecessarily over parts of Gabriel that he shouldn’t care about. Stroking his collarbone, dipping his thumb into the soft pale divot of an old bullet entry wound. He’s stalling. He can’t afford to do that. If he’s hard, he has to continue while he still can.

He stands suddenly and takes a couple strides backwards, stepping from the mattress onto the floor. Then he reaches down and grabs both of Gabriel’s legs.

Gabriel blurts out a wordless sound of protest as Jack drags his body off the mattress until only his head is balanced on the edge of it. He tries to sit up, and Jack shoves him back down with a boot to his chest.

He keeps a boot on Gabriel’s shoulder as he drops his belt to the floor and unfastens his pants to pull out his cock.

Jack lowers himself and reaches for the bottom of the hood. He loosens it from around Gabriel’s neck and slides it up enough to expose his mouth and nose, then re-cinches it in place across his eyes. He slaps his cock lightly against Gabriel’s mouth. Gabriel’s nostrils flare, and he tightens his jaw when Jack pushes his lip up with a thumb.

“Come on, don’t fight me,” he croons. “This will be so much easier for both of us if you don’t fight.”

Gabriel turns his head aside as Jack drags the head of his cock across his lips and pushes against his cheek. He’s breathing loud and strained through his nose.

Jack relents with a click of his tongue, drawing back a little.

“Okay, you want me to fuck your ass instead? I can do that.”

A throaty little sound burbles out of Gabriel. He says, “No.”

Jack makes an inquisitive noise. But Gabriel clenches his teeth again when Jack reaches back down to cup his jaw. He pushes Gabriel’s lips apart with his fingers and knocks on his locked teeth a few times with the middle knuckle of his forefinger. “Come on, are you going to open up or not? Stop wasting my time. You have three seconds to decide. One… Two… Thr—”

Slowly, like forcing a rusted hinge to move, Gabriel opens his mouth. Jack pops his thumb inside and presses down on his tongue.

“If you bite, I will get the pliers and pull your teeth out. Clear?”

Gabriel swallows awkwardly without closing his lips. He nods twice.

Jack’s thumb is still in place when he adjusts his position and pushes his cock into Gabriel’s mouth. He rocks a few times, dragging himself over Gabriel’s tongue, which flattens away from him. He finally eases his thumb away when his cockhead bumps against the back of Gabriel’s soft palate. Gabriel’s throat is sealed off, instinctively trying to protect his airway. Jack can’t let him get away with that. He thinks _please don’t make me hurt you_ as he rolls his hips, trying to bump past the obstruction. Gabriel’s throat remains stubbornly tight. Just when he thinks he’s going to have to force his way, Gabriel suddenly gulps and lets him into his throat.

It’s an awkward angle for both of them. Gabriel instantly chokes and tries to cough, and Jack backs off to see if he’ll say anything. This is the part, he thinks, that is most likely to make Gabriel panic: blind, cut off from air, and unable to use or signal with his hands. If Gabriel wants him to stop, then he needs a chance to speak. But Gabriel just spits. Not even in what Jack would consider a defiant way. He’s just clearing out his mouth to keep from choking on his own saliva.

Jack shoves his cock back inside. Gabriel swallows him; he doesn’t have much choice.

He fucks Gabriel’s mouth like that. It’s not like any blowjob he’s had before. He’s not mindful of Gabriel’s comfort, and Gabriel doesn’t do anything to try to make it good for him. He just _endures_ it. Jack lets him breathe from time to time. Gives him just enough air that he can keep his wits about him. Enough space that he can get out a ‘Jack’ if he needs to.

It’s sloppy. Gabriel chokes again and again, gagging up thick spittle. He drools helplessly onto himself, and Jack feels him buck sporadically when going too long without air triggers an automatic reaction from his body.

Jack mostly wants it to be over. He likes to get his dick sucked, but not like this.

It seems terrible that he should do this and not even relish it. But it doesn’t really matter how conflicted he is: the physicality of the act still affects him. He can’t stop his body from _feeling_. Enough stimulation will cause a reaction regardless of what he thinks or wants.

He forces his cock into Gabriel’s spasming throat for what seems like an eternity, and then he has an orgasm. It’s shamefully intense, makes the small of his back twinge with tension as he rolls his hips through it, spilling directly down Gabriel’s throat.

It’s a relief to slide out of Gabriel’s mouth and draw away. Gabriel coughs hoarsely, chest shuddering as he catches his breath. Jack pulls the hood off his eyes and tosses it onto the floor as he stands. Gabriel’s eyes are already shut, but he closes them even more tightly against the sudden brightness.

Jack looks down on him for a moment as he refastens his pants. Gabriel looks—defiled. Saliva has soaked into his beard, and his entire face is damp and flushed. Being choked has made his eyes water; his eyelids are slightly puffy, and there are more distinct lines cutting through the film of sweat on his skin where tears have rolled down his face.

This should be the part where Jack cleans him up and takes care of him. Instead he spits on Gabriel’s face and walks away.

Jack goes to the wine rack and selects a bottle, and then a corkscrew from the table. He uncorks the bottle and pours a little into a glass.

“Twenty thirty-eight,” he reads off the label. “That was a drought year, wasn’t it? Bad harvests.”

He turns back to look at Gabriel.

Gabriel is trying to wipe his face on his shoulder. Jack drinks half the glass of wine in a gulp. He doesn’t even taste it. He just needed to have something to do with his hands for a moment or two. Sometimes he can even trick himself into believing that alcohol has an effect on him; enjoy the placebo effect of lowered inhibitions. He refills the glass, almost to the top this time.

He remembers his holster and removes it, putting it down on an empty spot on the table.

Gabriel carefully draws himself into a sitting position. He’s already starting to look more composed. The sweat and tears have begun to dry, and his skin is less blotchy. For a moment he stares blankly at a spot midway across the floor. Then his head jerks up and his eyes begin to rove around the room, taking it in. When his gaze finally reaches the table, and Jack in front of it, Gabriel asks, raspily, “What’s this about?”

Jack says, “Huh?”

“All this. What’s this about? Getting back at me for something?”

Oh. Gabriel thinks he’s done _character building_. That there’s some kind of backstory here; something for him to play off of. Revenge, jealousy. Something like that. Gabriel killed his brother; Gabriel bankrupted him. Something _happened_. There’s a reason for this.

Jack shrugs.

“It isn’t about anything.” He takes another mouthful of wine. "I wanted to fuck you, so I’m going to fuck you. Don't you ever do things just because you feel like it?"

Gabriel stiffens. It's a phenomenal little bit of acting. So subtle that it looks like an involuntary reaction he consciously tried to suppress instead of a choice he made.

It spurs Jack into taking the next step. He sets his wineglass down with careless heaviness and makes another selection from the table. He holds it loosely in his hand, lets Gabriel look at it as he approaches. A collar. Big and new and sturdy. There’s a length of leather already clipped to the attached D-ring, another lobster clasp hanging at the other end of it.

He reaches to push Gabriel’s head down. As he does, Gabriel heaves himself to the side.

Gabriel’s weight slams into Jack’s legs. He staggers back, arms circling for balance. The collar goes flying somewhere behind him.

Gabriel gathers himself and rams into him again. This time Jack lets himself fall. A controlled collapse is gentler on his knees than withstanding the force of the hit.

He’s already thinking about what will happen next as he tumbles onto the floor. Gabriel’s hands are still bound. It makes him slower, clumsier, and altogether less capable. If this were a real escape attempt, Gabriel would have to incapacitate him before running for the stairs.

But this isn’t a real attempt.

Gabriel lunges toward the other side of the room, pointing himself at the stairs. He barely gets a full stride before Jack takes him down.

He wraps a hand around Gabriel’s jaw to keep his chin from striking the concrete as he flattens Gabriel to the floor. Gabriel tosses his head and tries to bite his hand, and Jack slaps the side of his face.

Gabriel struggles under him, trying to throw him off. Even without the use of his hands, he’s strong enough to move Jack’s body weight with ease. Jack, for his part, is disadvantaged by trying not to resist so much that he actually hurts Gabriel in the process.

They go tumbling across the floor, Gabriel snarling and snapping, until they bump one of the table legs. The whole table shifts, and the corkscrew falls to the floor.

Gabriel’s on his stomach. Jack presses a hand between his shoulder blades to hold him down as he reaches up and gropes around on the tabletop. He finds what he’s looking for by feel and pulls it down.

It’s a stun gun. Not a discreet little civilian model for personal defense. It’s military grade. Big.

Jack puts his arm down in front of Gabriel’s face, resting his elbow on the floor with the stun gun directly in his line of sight. He turns the gun on, and a crackling arc of electricity jumps between the two prongs. Gabriel stills beneath him.

“Stop fighting, or I’m going to jam this against the back of your neck and fry you until you piss yourself.” He shifts his hand from between Gabriel’s shoulders to the back of his head and grinds his cheek into the floor. “Do you _understand_ me?”

Gabriel breathes hard through his mouth. Jack sees the bridge of electricity reflected in his wide, staring eyes.

The resistance drains out of Gabriel’s body.

“…Yeah.”

In a real situation, Gabriel would choose torture over surrender, and that’s the kind of thought that keeps Jack awake some nights. But right now it’s a relief that he won’t have to hurt Gabriel to take back control of the situation. He keeps his hold on the stun gun but gives Gabriel a condescending pat on the head before reaching past him. The collar had slid under the table and ended up within arm’s reach.

He hauls Gabriel by the shoulder into a sitting position before buckling the collar around his neck. But first he has to set the stun gun aside on the table to free his hands. He’s glad to put it down. He doesn’t want to use it, but if he kept it on hand, they’d almost certainly end up in a situation in which he’d have to electrocute Gabriel it to avoid breaking immersion. He fastens the collar tighter than he normally would, but not enough to compress his neck. Gabriel holds rigidly still for him, head slightly bowed.

Jack winds the end of the lead around his hand. Standing over him, he gives Gabriel another pat on the head.

“Hey, are you thirsty?”

Gabriel doesn’t answer.

“You must be thirsty after all that fighting,” he continues, brightly. “Here: drink.”

He takes the bottle of wine from the table holds it to Gabriel’s lips, tilted so that the wine flows against his mouth. Gabriel seals his lips against it, but Jack keeps the bottle there until wine begins to trickle down his chin. He presses the bottle harder against Gabriel’s mouth, pinching his lips between the bottle and his own teeth. At last Gabriel relents and takes one desperate mouthful. But Jack keeps tilting the bottle, pouring more than Gabriel can swallow, so that wine spills out from the edges of his mouth. Then he pulls the bottle back, letting wine pour freely onto Gabriel’s face. Gabriel’s eyes flinch shut. Laughing, Jack upends the remains of the bottle directly over the top of his head. Wine spatters onto the floor, splashing his boots and soaking into Gabriel’s knees.

He thuds the bottle onto the table and drains his own glass of wine in a couple of long, breathless swallows. Some of it had spilled when they’d bumped the table. The glass falls over when he puts it down again, and stops from rolling off the edge of the table only because it bumps into the stun gun.

He pulls on the lead, sudden and hard. He pulls until Gabriel comes tottering along on his knees. He hauls him all the way back to the mattress and pushes him down onto his face.

He plants a foot on Gabriel’s back to keep him from moving so that he can lean down and clip the other end of the lead directly to the zip tie binding Gabriel’s wrists. The pieces of his shirt have by this point fallen all the way to his wrists, covering his hands. When Jack moves a piece aside to access the zip tie, he sees a few dark crusts of blood under Gabriel’s fingernails. The shallow punctures he’d made in his own palms have already healed. Jack would never have known they were there at all if not for the few flakes of blood dried in the creases of Gabriel’s skin. He tries not to think about it as he tests the lead with a tug and then steps off Gabriel so he can turn him onto his side and start to unlace his boots.

It’s a dangerous spot to place himself. Gabriel could kick him quite severely—if he wanted to. But he’s allowed to wrestle Gabriel’s boots and socks off his feet without any injuries to his person. Gabriel doesn’t even watch him do it. His eyes are fixed on the far wall. Jack doesn’t get a reaction until he throws Gabriel’s boots aside and starts to take off his pants.

Then Gabriel says: “Don’t.”

Jack pretends not to hear. He pulls Gabriel’s pants off his hips.

Gabriel isn’t hard. For an instant, Jack’s mind stalls out. He stops moving altogether. They’ve done this—all this—and Gabriel hasn’t even enjoyed it? Is just, what, _putting up with it_ because he’s too stubborn, too proud, to admit that he doesn’t like this as much as he thought he would?

Jack feels blood pounding behind his face. It takes conscious effort to draw his next breath. Be calm, he tells himself. He can’t make Gabriel’s decisions for him. The blood under Gabriel’s fingernails is worrying, but he hasn’t seen signs of true distress. Gabriel probably isn’t hard because he hasn’t gotten any direct stimulation yet. Even aroused, he won’t maintain an erection indefinitely.

Gabriel said he wanted this. Jack can’t decide _for_ him that it’s no longer true.

Jack continues undressing him. Gabriel squeezes his legs together, making it more difficult to remove his pants, but Jack has plenty of experience getting Gabriel’s clothes out of the way. He doesn’t even have to tear anything.

The reality is that he’s not hard right now, either. He tries to concentrate the same way he did before, focusing on Gabriel’s body as though it’s just a _thing_ for him to look at. Gabriel has incredible legs. The tension in his body defines them even better. He runs a hand boldly up the length of one of them as he reaches for Gabriel’s underwear.

“Don’t!” It’s the loudest Gabriel has raised his voice all night. The first time he’s sounded scared. The whites of his eyes are visible all the way around. “Don’t touch me!”

Jack pulls his underwear off.

“Stop! Don’t!”

He pries Gabriel’s legs apart from one another. The struggle leaves Gabriel on his back, lying on his arms.

“No! Don’t fucking touch me!”

It’s… very difficult to ignore what Gabriel’s saying and to keep putting his hands on him. He forces Gabriel’s legs open, his knees up and back. Gabriel’s naked in front of him, collared, arms bound. He smells sweet and sumptuous from the wine, warmed by his skin.

Jack has a few things in his pockets. Lube, condoms. There’s more on the table, too, but he wanted to make sure that he had the basics close at hand. He lets down one of Gabriel’s legs so he can take the bottle of lubricant out. Not very much of it. Just enough to be able to fuck Gabriel through a round or two.

He has to let go of Gabriel momentarily to be able to open the bottle and get lube onto his fingers. But when he tries to reach between Gabriel’s legs, Gabriel flinches back and begins to struggle, trying to close his legs and move away. Jack makes an impatient noise.

“Now’s not the time to make things difficult,” he growls. “You don’t want to do things the easy way? Fine.”

Jack wrestles his own pants open, not caring if he gets lube on them in the process. He lets Gabriel scoot up the mattress as he takes his own cock out and brusquely strokes himself to hardness. Gabriel watches him balefully from the upper corner of the mattress, where he’s blocked in by the walls themselves, lying on his side. He can’t get any farther away without going past Jack.

When he’s hard enough, Jack goes after him again. Gabriel snarls and tries to push him back with his legs, but Jack patiently fights his way closer. He heaves one of Gabriel’s legs up to his shoulder and straddles his other thigh. Then he brazenly grinds his cock against Gabriel’s ass.

"I said I was going to teach you to behave,” he rumbles. “If you don’t want me to make things easier for you, I don’t care. This won’t hurt _me_.”

He could do it, technically. Fuck Gabriel without any prep other than the lube smeared on his cock. It would be unpleasant for Gabriel, but not unacceptably risky. Jack doesn’t _want_ it to be unpleasant, though.

Gabriel looks up at him with big, furious eyes. His lip curls and he breathes out a snarl through his teeth. He doesn’t think Jack will do it.

So Jack lines up and starts to push.

For a moment, Gabriel doesn’t seem to believe it’s really happening. A strange blankness overtakes his face. Jack is just beginning to press into him when Gabriel snaps out of it and reacts with earnest desperation.

“No! Don’t, don’t!” Gabriel’s head thumps dully against the wall as he bucks and thrashes. Jack doesn’t relinquish his position, but he can’t follow through with his threat, either. He rides out the struggle. Then there’s a split second of stillness as Gabriel meets his eyes. Jack can almost see the thought traveling through his mind: _Does he want me to beg?_

Gabriel takes a shuddering breath. He rasps, “Please. Please don’t.”

A terrible thrill hooks Jack through the pit of his stomach. He leans closer to Gabriel.

“Please _what_? Don’t _what_?”

Gabriel falters. His mouth opens, but he doesn’t speak. There’s a rigid, frozen look on his face.

Jack has mercy on him. There’s only so far he can push Gabriel before one of them runs into a wall. He gives Gabriel a cold, derisive laugh. Without saying anything else, he pours more lube onto his hand and shoves three fingers into Gabriel.

Gabriel’s spine curves and then re-straightens. A small noise escapes him. It’s a lot to take at once, but not more than he can handle. And Jack wants him to be hard when they fuck, so he crooks his fingers and rubs Gabriel the way that always drives him wild.

He fingers Gabriel fast and rough. By the time he’s done, Gabriel is only half hard, but his cock is leaking a puddle onto his thigh. He hasn’t done any more pleading. He hasn’t spoken at all. But Jack has wrenched little sounds out of him. Breathless, reluctant noises. His eyes stay shut and his face stays turned away like a man ashamed, degraded. He’s so lovely. A pang of desire to kiss him goes through Jack. To keep himself from doing it, he withdraws his fingers, drags Gabriel out of the corner and onto the center of the mattress, and flips him onto his stomach.

He’d like to be able to watch Gabriel’s expressions to have a sense of what he’s feeling, but the reality is that he’s more likely to stay in character if he can’t see his face.

He has to give himself a few more strokes as he hunkers over Gabriel, his heart thudding with anxious anticipation of what he’s about to do. Below him, Gabriel tries to twist to look over his shoulder, and Jack has to use a hand to hold him down. He feels Gabriel’s heart pounding through his back.

Now that they’ve gotten this far, he doesn’t want to interrupt himself to put on a condom. He’d debated with himself over whether to use one. Gabriel had left the decision up to him. Gabriel usually prefers them, and there’s an argument to be made for the realism of not wanting to leave… evidence behind. But this entire experience is the opposite of typical; the contrast is the _point_. So he tries to keep himself from worrying about the condom as he presses Gabriel into the mattress and shoves into his body.

Gabriel cries out. He tries to pull away, but Jack moves right along with him, bucking his hips cruelly, pushing himself deep. It feels sickeningly good to chase after his own gratification, to do only what is pleasurable to _him_ , no matter what his partner is feeling. It feels good to bury himself inside a strong body, and to do it again and again without wondering if he’s making it enjoyable enough. It feels good to take and take and _take_.

He gives Gabriel the kind of brutal fucking that was more characteristic of their early relationship, when they were learning the capabilities and limits of their impossible new bodies and Gabriel’s physical indomitability still seemed more exciting than debilitating. He presses Gabriel’s head into the mattress, fingernails digging into his scalp. He gives it everything. He loses himself in it so much that when he orgasms some unknown number of minutes later, he stays hard and fucks Gabriel straight through the refractory period, his own over-sensitivity goading him into a kind of vengeful relentlessness.

Eventually it occurs to him that the purpose of all this, surely, is to get Gabriel to come. To _make_ him come. Gabriel himself had been blasé about the matter. When they’d discussed it, Jack had asked _Should I get you off?_ and Gabriel had only shrugged, said, _Well, you can try_.

He’d set low expectations before they even began.

Without warning he pulls out of Gabriel and throws him over onto his back. Gabriel grunts as his weight settles on his arms. A thrill lights up Jack’s body when he sees that Gabriel is still hard. Harder than he’d been when he started fucking him, in fact. Jack gathers both of his legs together and draws them up to his right shoulder, lifting Gabriel’s hips from the mattress.

This time Jack has the pleasure of seeing Gabriel’s expression transform as he sinks into him again. Gabriel’s eyes roll half way up; his mouth parts. His own come drips out from around Jack’s cock as he pushes deeper.

He sets a hard pace, though less punishing than before. He wraps his arms around Gabriel’s joined legs, holding him in place. The position leaves Gabriel’s back arched, his neck straining under the collar. Gabriel’s heavy cock slaps against his stomach as Jack fucks him. Gabriel alternately bares his teeth and presses his lips together. He squeezes his eyes shut and refuses eye contact.

Jack wonders if he should be… talking more. Saying mean things to Gabriel. Threatening him, or calling him a—a slut. But he doesn’t know what to say. He’d planned out his actions, but dirty talk? That wasn’t something that came to him in his own imagination.

Looking at Gabriel now, though, he feels a stirring of inspiration. He drops a hand lower and grabs Gabriel’s cock. His reaction is gratifying: a grimace and a full-body jolt that Jack feels even in his own cock.

“Don’t,” Gabriel blurts. His eyes open only enough to glare. “ _Don’t_.”

He toys with Gabriel, thumbing below the head of his cock, rucking the foreskin over the swell of the crown. Pre-come wets the tips of his fingers. “You can pretend to fight all you want, but _this_ part of you is honest with me. You want to be fucked. You want to be _taken_.”

Gabriel flashes his teeth, letting out low noise straight from his chest. “Shhhut the fu-uck up,” he slurs.

It may have been too far. Too true, rather. Too close to the reality of the situation. Gabriel is trying to pretend that he _doesn’t_ want this.

Hoping he hasn’t ruined it, Jack squeezes his fingers tighter and jerks Gabriel’s cock. There’s too much friction. He lets go for a moment and comes back with a dollop of lube in his palm. He strokes Gabriel as though it’s a punishment, moving his hand in an aggressive blur. Gabriel’s eyes clamp shut. He tosses his head back and forth. He truly looks like he’s in pain, like this is being forced upon him. His body trembles.

It’d be convincing, if Gabriel couldn’t have turned things around at a dozen points throughout the night.

Jack ignores the agony in Gabriel’s expression and keeps touching him, keeps fucking him. If he hadn’t come already, he’d never have lasted this long. But at the same time his own sensitivity is making this difficult. It’s uncomfortable to hold back an orgasm while keeping up this pace, and the discomfort spreads through the rest of his body. He feels over-worked. He’s sweating heavily under his arms and down his back, and his balls ache.

He thinks, _I can’t do this anymore_ , and the thought has barely finished crossing his mind when Gabriel comes. It’s preceded by a shout, something that sounds like it was wrenched unwillingly out of the core of him. Jack feels Gabriel’s legs locking up with tension on his shoulder.

He pulls out—and drags Gabriel through the every second of the orgasm, keeps touching him until he’s twisting and gasping and coming dry. This is the one time when asking him to stop means nothing, so Gabriel doesn’t even try. He suffers through it like he’d suffer through stitches without painkillers.

He lets Gabriel go, at last, and touches himself. It’s not going to take long. It _doesn’t_ take long. Half a minute of stroking gets him to the edge. He comes on the underside of Gabriel’s thighs the curve of his ass. Watches it drip down his skin. When he’s finished, he lowers Gabriel’s legs from his shoulder. Drops his hips onto the mattress.

He’s done. He can’t do more of this. He can’t fuck Gabriel again, and he doesn’t have it in him to inflict anything else upon him.

Without saying anything, he maneuvers Gabriel onto his side and snaps the zip tie. He unbuckles the collar.

Then he crouches in front of him and whispers, “Gabe?”

Gabriel looks up at him. His eyes are cloudy and distant. Then he says, “Hey, Jackie.”

They reach for each other at the same time.

Jack ends up stretched out on the mattress, Gabriel’s face tucked into the hollow of his neck, his hands running up and down Gabriel’s back. Gabriel is shaking; Jack can’t remember the last time that happened. He smells the wine strongly, and the particular scent of Gabriel’s sweat. Gabriel must be able to feel that Jack’s shirt has soaked through. He should have taken it off before pressing himself against Gabriel like this, shit. But Gabriel doesn’t say anything about it.

Instead, Gabriel says, “It’s okay, Jackie; it’s okay, it’s okay,” and Jack’s annoyed by that because he knows it’s okay, he was just doing what Gabriel asked him to do, _he’s_ fine, he’s not the one who needs to be told that _it’s okay_ , but when he tries to say that to Gabriel, he just hiccups thickly, and Gabriel grips him harder.

For awhile they don’t speak to each other anymore. Jack doesn’t know how long. Not until Gabriel finally pulls his head back and mumbles, “Whose house is this?”

“No one’s. —Well. It has an owner. But no one lives here.” Reassuringly, he adds: “It’s okay, other people have sex here.”

Gabriel’s forehead creases.

“Not right _now_ ,” Jack clarifies, hastily. “It’s just us. How—do you feel?”

“Arms are stiff.” Gabriel rotates one shoulder and moves his elbow like a hinge. “Not bad. Just a long time in one position. I don’t like having them behind my back.”

“Sorry.”

Gabriel looks at him like he’s about to say something, then he just shakes his head. Gingerly, he gathers himself to sit up. The halves of his shirts fall from his wrists onto the floor. He looks at them. “You messed up my clothes.”

“I brought some clothes for you. I can bring them. Or we can go get them.”

Gabriel nods slowly but doesn’t move. Suddenly he hunches his shoulders and scrubs both hands over his head and face several times. “Hah. I don’t think I’m ready for the car yet.”

Jack shifts closer on his knees and gathers Gabriel against him, squeezing him around the shoulders. “It’s okay, it’s okay. We’re going to stay. We’re going to sleep here. I’m going to make you dinner and then we’re going to go to sleep. Is that all right? Do you want to take a shower?”

A few minutes later they climb the stairs out of the cellar, Gabriel still naked, Jack with his shirt draped in the crook of his elbow. They go all the way to the master bathroom on the upper level, where there’s a deep tub and a separate shower stall, clearly meant to accommodate couples. Gabriel chooses the shower.

They dress in clean clothes afterward. Gabriel wants to get his hoodie from the car, but there’s already one lying out in the bedroom for him, old and soft with age. By the time they’re dressed, Gabriel seems more—present. He finds things about the house’s decor to criticize. The renovations clash with the original architecture.

Jack argues with his comments, even though he agrees.

Gabriel keeps him company in the kitchen, drinking a glass of water at the island, while he cooks. They talk about what they usually talk about: work, and people they know, and news from their respective mothers. Gabriel checks the messages that have come through on both of their phones and reads out the few that Jack needs to answer right away. He dictates his responses to Gabriel, who is more reliable than the voice-to-text application, so that he can attend to the stove top with both hands.

Jack finds himself desperately wanting some kind of… performance review. He wants to know how Gabriel felt about—everything. The gun, the wine. Every word he spoke. But the conversation skirts around what what they’ve just done together.

After awhile Gabriel says, “I’m going to grab something,” and when he comes back to the kitchen he’s carrying his original clothes, boots, and a bottle of wine.

“Anything stronger than this around?” he asks as he opens cupboard doors in search of wine glasses.

“Not that I found. Should I have brought something?”

Irrational anger at himself suddenly pulls his shoulders tight. Of course; why didn’t he think of that? Gabriel likes strong, sweet cocktails when he needs to calm down. He would have appreciated one, surely.

“It’s fine. Can’t believe you poured out a bottle from ‘38. It smelled good.” Gabriel fills two glasses, makes him take one, and taps them together. “Cheers. Third time’s the charm.”

“Ha. I suppose.”

Gabriel had called it off the first time. _You look like you’re going to be sick, Morrison._ He’d done better during their second attempt, but Gabriel had tried to make things easier for him, and Gabriel’s passivity felt—wrong. He couldn’t keep going like that.

Jack’s gut tells him that if they’d failed this time, there wouldn’t have been a fourth try.

“Hey. You with me, Jack?”

“What?” He looks up and finds Gabriel watching him with a little crease between his eyes. “Of course.”

Gabriel’s eyes drop to his wine glass, from which he has not drunk. Jack quickly takes a mouthful. But that little crease doesn’t go away.

“You’re still thinking about it?”

Jack exhales an astonished laugh. “You’re not?”

Gabriel shifts his weight over onto one leg. He pushes the base of his wine glass along the counter with his fingertips, watching the wine slosh up the sides as it’s moved in stops and starts. 

“You don’t want to do it again?”

“I’m—not sure.”

Gabriel is selfish in his own way, and God knows he’s stubborn, but he almost never _asks_ for anything. Not things that are only for his own benefit. Gabriel hates to _want_ anything: attention, love, pleasure. So when he actually says _I want you to do something for me_ , it’s hard to deny him. It’s hard not to want to give it to him.

It’s hard to fail.

Gabriel exhales slowly through his nose. “I know you want to talk about it.” Gabriel looks at him, and Jack sees that he’s exhausted. “Can we do it in the morning? I need—some sleep. I don’t know.”

“Oh.” Something inside Jack loosens. Gabriel is still processing. It’s comforting in its own way to know that. His whole body seems to relax. “I… Yeah. Come here.” 

He catches Gabriel around the back of his head and drags him in to kiss his forehead, and then his mouth. “Let that wine breathe more before you drink the rest. And help me with this; I want to eat.”

They sit down to dinner: a platter of quail roasted with figs, and rice with almonds, and greens. Gabriel pushes his fork away and picks up a quail with his fingers. Jack copies him.

Taking things apart with his hands and teeth makes Jack feel better in some undefinable way. They eat gluttonously, licking grease from under their fingernails. His leg bumps Gabriel’s under the table.

After dinner Gabriel wants to walk around outside, despite the darkness. It’s stopped raining, and the clouds have parted in spots to show dark stripes of sky freckled with stars. They wander without speaking through the damp grass while an owl calls somewhere in the trees until they see the lights of another little country house in the distance, and then they turn back the way they’d come.

Back in the house, Gabriel slides a hand up his back and murmurs, “So is there dessert, too?” 

There is.

It’s carrot cake.

They treat themselves to an early night in bed, the lights off and the curtains pulled open to show them the night. Gabriel lies undressed with him, and Jack lets himself linger over the things he cares about.

**Author's Note:**

> The title of the fic is stolen from [_Masseduction_](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jPha0h8TA5U) by St. Vincent.
> 
> You can find me on twitter at [strangefingers](https://twitter.com/strangefingers).


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